Page 25 of Poison's Promise

With those words, she opens the door and steps out, leaving a gaping void in her wake.

The silence that follows is deafening.

I stand there, feeling like the ground has been pulled out from under me.

The mansion, once a symbol of success and security, now feels like an empty shell.

I slump down onto the nearest chair, running a hand over my head.

The weight of what just happened crashes down on me.

Rachel’s parting words echo in my mind, each syllable a stab to the heart.

There’s no mistaking what’s going to happen between us—custody battles, legal fees, and more time away from Tilly than I can bear to think about.

All because I didn’t choose my words wisely. Fuck.

And Polly... The thought of her brings a fresh wave of confusion and regret.

If only I’d known the truth back then, maybe none of this would have happened.

But now, it feels like too little, too late.

I look around the room, taking in the luxurious furnishings, the state-of-the-art technology, the sweeping views of Los Angeles.

None of it matters. Not without my daughter, not without some semblance of peace with Rachel.

I grab my phone and stare at the screen, contemplating calling Polly, trying to make sense of it all. But what good would that do?

She’s part of the past, a chapter I thought I’d closed. Yet here I am, haunted by ghosts I can’t seem to escape.

“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, tossing the phone onto the couch.

I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

I was supposed to see Tilly, spend time with her, maybe even find a way to mend things with Rachel.

Instead, I’ve managed to tear everything apart even more.

“How did it get to this point?” I whisper to the empty room.

There’s no answer, only the oppressive silence that seems to mock me.

I have to figure this out. For Tilly’s sake, for my own sanity. But right now, all I can do is sit here and try to make sense of the mess I’ve created.

CHAPTER SIX

Poison

I push open the heavy door of the clubhouse, the familiar scent of leather, sweat, and stale beer greeting me like an old friend.

We’ve got a few days off from shows, and it’s good to be back here, where there’s some semblance of normalcy.

The noise is comforting—kids laughing, babies cooing, brothers getting drunk and rowdy.

“Hey, Poison!” Siren calls from behind the bar, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, tattoos peeking from under her tank top.

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